


nihilism

by thebrotherswholoved



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 14x10, A little angst, Alternate Universe, Bittersweet, Dadchesters, Fluff, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Nihilism, Spoilers, Tumblr: thebrotherswholoved, Wincest - Freeform, this is shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrotherswholoved/pseuds/thebrotherswholoved
Summary: What if Dean’s “cage” inside his own head—you know, the one Michael trapped him in—wasn’t the bar? What if Michael knew that what would make Dean truly content, truly happy, is family?**OBVIOUSLY THERE ARE SPOILERS IN HERE DON'T FUCKING SUE ME**





	nihilism

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERSSPOILERSSPOILERSSPOILERS. DID I MENTION THAT THERE ARE SPOILERS?

The last thing Sam and Cas see before they’re flung into an abyss is that smug smile on Dean’s—no, Michael’s—face. The one that Sam wants to never, ever see again, that Cas wants to smack off his best friend’s face. A vessel held captive, trapped inside his own head like an animal pacing in its cage, bound to lash out. Except, this time his chains are forged from dark matter, or something stronger, to keep him sedated.

 

The broad-shouldered man wants to cry at this monster’s words, his threats, and tries to think of happy memories to replace this…not-Dean in front of him. The one that’s not cracking lame jokes, or throwing dirty clothes at him when he’s doing laundry, or trying tiptoe into the kitchen for pie at three in the morning. He can’t make the figure before him disappear, so he nods at the angel seated beside him. All it takes is a flip of a switch and a strong hand grasping his forearm to send them barrelling into a foreign land.

 

It’s so silent that Sam feels like he could shatter he world by uttering one word, and it’s cold. He frowns: Dean hates the cold. Few words are exchanged as Cas searches through pain, contempt, anger, trauma, and anxiety, every strained gasp from Sam making it hard to concentrate without his pseudo-humanity getting in the way.

 

Then, the angel begins wading through the good memories, and Sam can’t help but smile when he hears his voice in every single one. Everything is there: that time they went for a joyride in Lincoln, watching old movies at Bobby’s, all those thunder storms that Dean had to hold him and comfort him through, even that one prank war after he left Stanford when his older brother put a spoon in his mouth. He saw the picture of that memory in his wallet a few weeks ago, and smiled at the nostalgia.

 

Sam’s listening to them grow up through these snippets of the past when he remembers why he’s here. He can tiptoe through Dean’s tulips later—right now, he’s supposed to be…wait, what’s that? He stops Cas with a hand on his arm and shakes his head.

 

“This hasn’t happened before,” he whispers.

 

Castiel waves his hand and reveals this “memory,” one that couldn’t have happened. They watch the scene unfold like they’re in the cinema instead of inside Dean’s head, trying to free him from this hell. Sam’s heart stops—Dean’s hell doesn’t seem like hell at all.

 

Tears fall as he watches his brother’s imaginary world carry on, less about what’s happening and more about how he didn’t catch on sooner

 

_ There’s a grassy field under a crystal blue sky, clouds floating above like they’re real. The world seems vibrant with all the trees, colors, and flowers, but the most beautiful and alive thing sits cross legged on a white and red checkered picnic blanket with five or six flowers of assorted colors in his hair. Dean takes a bite of the salad beside him before spitting it out with a disgusted look and a shake of his head. _

 

_ “How in the world can he like that shit?” He mutters to himself with a fond smile. _

 

_ That grins brightens tenfold when another voice, a smaller and younger one, yells at him from the bottom of the little foothill he’s sat upon. Green eyes sparkle at the little girl skipping toward him, hazelnut pigtails flapping in the wind as she runs. Her overalls are dirty and there’s a smear of mud on her face, which Dean wipes with his sleeve when she gets to him, out of breath but still energetic. _

 

_ He chuckles at her vivacity, her zeal, and twirls one of her pigtails around his finger. “What’cha been up to, bug?” _

 

_ “I brought another flower—to make you pretty,” the girl rocks back and forth on her heels, a mischievous smile across her face. _

 

_ Dean scoffs and pretends to be offended. “I’m always pretty! Besides, where would you get your good looks from if I’m not pretty, hm?” _

 

_ “Daddy! Duh,” she fastens the daisy in his hair with a bobby pin and stands back to admire her work. “But, you’re pretty too, Papa.” _

 

_ “Well, thank you, Beth,” he kisses her forehead and pats the spot beside him for her to sit. Beth, as he calls her, joins her dad on the picnic blanket and fishes out some crackers. “Don’t you wanna save some for Daddy?” _

 

_ She thinks for a second, then shakes her head. “Not really. When’s Daddy comin’ back, Papa?” _

 

_ Dean smiles at the question and checks his watch. “About five minutes or so. He and Uncle Cas went to pick up your surprise from the shop.” _

 

_ Beth claps her hands and stands up, leaving a kiss on Dean’s cheek before she runs off to burn more energy—thank god. _

 

Sam is bawling now. He’s a mess at the picture before him, wiping his tears only to shed more, and Cas understands why. He begins to close his hand when his friend stops him with pleading, begging eyes.

 

“Please,” he croaks with what little voice he can muster. “Please, Cas.”

 

The angel nods and grabs his wrist, blue eyes pulsing with light when suddenly, the abyss is gone. No more blackness, no more empty; in its place, that same blue sky he saw in Dean’s mind-cage looms over him, and he can feel the grass beneath his feet. The fresh air envelopes him in a sense of peace, hair blowing behind him with the soft wind.

 

Cas points at the hill before them and Sam chokes. There’s Dean, or at least what he perceives to be Dean—this man is truly happy, his shoulders are back instead of slouched, the scars on his arms are gone, and his hair is ever so slightly greyer. This is Sam’s Dean without his trauma, pain, and anxieties. This Dean is free.

 

Taking a deep breath, the younger brother walks toward the figure under the huge oak tree and watches with profound sadness when the man leaps up and embraces him like there’s nothing wrong with his action. In this world, this perfect world, there isn’t.

 

Sam allows himself to reciprocate, arms wrapping around his brother’s torso like they belong there. All too soon, Dean leans his head up to whisper in his ear, breaking the soft silence between them.

 

“Did you get it?”

 

“Uh…” He panics: what does he mean?! From behind, Castiel comes to his rescue by pulling a small velvet drawstring bag from his trench coat pocket.

 

The scruffy angel catches up with Sam and smiles at his best friend, who’s eyeing the bag with an even bigger grin. “Here you go.”

 

Dean sighs in relief and pats Cas on the shoulder. “Thanks man. She’s gonna love it. D’you wanna join us? I think Beth left some ham sandwiches left.”

 

Tears prick at the corners of Sam’s eyes: those are his brother’s favorite. His eyes find the blue ones beside him and beg him to stay, a plea to which he complies with no fuss. “Of course.”

 

The trio sit down, Sam beside Dean, and the taller feels his brother snake his arm around his waist. Though he should be uncomfortable, he’s not; in fact, he’s never felt more at home or more at peace. Cas lets them have their moment, happily catching a butterfly on his index finger, and it’s silent until Dean speaks up.

 

“She’s growing up so fast,” the older brother exhales with a fond twitch of his lips. He turns to look at Sam and leans his head on his shoulder. “She looks more like you every day, gorgeous like you.”

 

Sam, who’s melting into the moment like cotton candy, blushes without knowing the exact reason why. “I think she gets that from you.”

 

He doesn’t know what’s going on but this feels so right. He just feels this…joy in his heart, one that he’s never felt before and never wants to go away. Sam knows that this has to end sometime, but god, just give him five more minutes to absorb this world, to capture every bit of it so he never forgets.

 

The two watch their daughter twirl in the distance, who stops only to splash in puddles and chase after poor unsuspecting butterflies, for what seems like an eternity. Dean takes his hand out of the blue and laces their fingers together. It’s then that Sam notices that he’s wearing a wedding ring that matches his brother’s. While he’s trying not to die of happiness, the sandy blonde-haired man takes a necklace from the violet velvet bag and opens the locket pendant.

 

Inside, there’s both a picture and a message inscribed into the silver. The photograph shows him and Dean cradling a baby girl, their baby girl, with the most ecstatic smiles. It couldn’t have been taken long after she was born given the hospital wristband around her tiny arm, and Sam wishes more than anything to have that memory to hold onto.

 

On the other panel, a message is written. Sam, still clutching his brother’s—no, husband’s—hand, begins to cry at the words.

 

_ “We love you more than words can describe. You’ll always be our baby girl. Never forget that. _

_ —Daddy and Papa” _

 

Dean wipes away his tears and kisses him, making Sam want to remain in this dream forever. Their first kiss, though fake, feels more real than anything he’s ever felt. When they part, he feels finger running through his hair and leans into the touch.

 

Bethany catches sight of her dads out of the corner of her eyes and abandons her pursuit of a monarch butterfly to barrel toward them. Sam’s not nearly prepared when he catches his daughter in his arms and feels the coarse denim overalls beneath his hands. God, he can see the freckles on her face and they’re identical to Dean’s, and her eyes…they’re the most gorgeous green he’s ever seen, just like her dad’s. She has his dimples, birthmark on her cheek, and smile, though, and that makes him want to weep. Little Beth seems almost real, and he loves her despite never having met her.

 

Sam wants to remain in this utopia, with Dean and their baby girl, but he knows that he can’t. Bethany has since leapt from his lap and is transferring the flowers from Dean’s hair to Cas’, and he feels like dying at the thought of leaving this behind.

 

Turning to his husband—god, he’ll miss calling him that—with a somber frown, he lets his voice break. “De, we don’t…this isn’t…none of this is r-real.”

 

Dean, thinking this is some prank, laughs at him while popping a grape into his mouth. “Very funny, Sammy.”

 

“No, please…” Sam grabs his hand and looks into those pools of green. “Please, you have to believe me. This isn’t real. You’re…you’re imagining all of this.”

 

A nervous chuckle escapes the shorter man’s throat and he squeezes his brother’s hand. “Babe, you’re scaring me. This…this is our life—“

 

“No, it’s not.” Sam cuts him off. “All of this, this world, is in your head. None of this is happening.”

 

Dean narrows his eyes and holds his other hand in his. “This sure as hell feels real. Our wedding six years ago felt real, and so did our daughter’s birth four years ago. Holding your hands and kissing you is real.”

 

The younger brother wants to die. In this world, he’s married to the love of his life, and they have a little girl together. The heartbreak he feels for something he barely knows is painful enough to make him sick.

 

“Dean, we don’t…we don’t have a daughter. We’re not married, not really. In the real world, you still see me as your brother.” He sheds a tear. “Michael’s got you trapped in here, in this perfect world, while he’s killing everything and everyone we love. While he’s ending the world.”

 

Slowly, Dean lifts his head and stares at him. “We don’t…we don’t have a daughter?”

 

Sam shakes his head with a distressed frown, listening to the sweet sound of Bethany’s laughter behind them. Suddenly, it stops, and he can practically see Dean’s heart shatter. Their baby girl, their Beth, is gone like she never existed. As Dean begins to realize what’s happening, other things disappear, too; things like their wedding bands, the picnic, and the flowers in his and Cas’ hair.

 

Now sobbing, the older man looks at his brother with a stare that makes Sam want to throw himself off a cliff. “Michael…he did this?”

 

The younger nods and opens his mouth to say something, but they’re interrupted by a familiar voice behind them, one that makes Sam sick to his stomach. Turning around without letting go of one another’s hands, they see Michael, in Dean’s body, staring back at them with a shit-eating grin that Sam wants so badly to smack off his face. 

 

Michael smacks his lips and makes a disapproving noise. “I always knew you’d be his weakness, Sam. I can’t say I’m surprised, either; your disgusting codependency was enough to expel me once, after all.” 

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam growls as he stands up to beat this dick until he sees stars, only to be stopped by Cas, who shakes his head. 

 

Dean joins the duo, taking apprehensive steps toward...well, himself. The confusion that masked his features is replaced by anger, red hot and ready to blow. “I remember now.”

 

“I’m sure you do,” Michael smirks, rolling the chain of his pocket watch between his fingers. 

 

“Get out of my head, jackass.” The shout is feral and enough to make any grown man cower. “Get out or at least fucking kill me while you have the chance!” 

 

The archangel toes at the grass, idly snapping his fingers as a taunt. “I would, but this is so much more enjoyable. I mean, kudos to me—the little girl was a nice touch, yes?”

 

Cas stares up at Sam with a glimmer of epiphany in his eyes. Then, he turns to Michael and smiles. “You can’t do anything. You’re all talk.”

 

Dean catches on and steps forward, arm instinctively reaching out for Sam’s. His little brother accepts, and his cowardice is gone. “This is my head. Fuck, you can’t even fight, can you?” 

 

Michael stays silent, and that’s enough of an answer for Dean. With a simple squinting up of his face and enough power to liquify his brain, the blonde hunter wills the warrior of God out of sight, so that the only sound to be heard is the breeze. 

 

The rules are bent in here, and the vessel has overthrown its master. The puppet has become the puppeteer. Sam stands there, shocked and confused, but then looks at Dean. 

 

“Where did you put him?” 

 

The older brother smiles and closes his eyes for a moment. “Uh...Dad’s New York storage unit, I think. My mind, my rules, right? I guess I’m the cage now.” 

 

Dean lets out a laugh and the others follow suit, revelling in their ‘victory’ until it’s gone. 

 

Sam is the first to wake up, sitting up with a start and ripping the electrodes rom his head with a grimace. Cas bolts upright as well and turns off the machine, which is whirring like a broken down car engine. Once calmed down, they watch as Dean opens his eyes and jerks the handcuffs around his wrist. Eyes widening in realization, he turns to Sam with a loving look in his eyes and smiles.

 

“Hiya, Sammy,” he whispers. 

 

Sam stands up with a relieved exhale to unlock the manacles, but stops when something falls to the floor with a dull thud. Stooping down to pick it up, he nearly has a heart attack as the velvet meets his fingertips. With his breaths going ragged and skin pale, Sam opens the drawstring bag and lets the silver locket land into his open left hand. He reads the back engraving and lets his tears fall once more.

 

_ ‘To our Bethany’ _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, euthanize me:')


End file.
